The Lost Knight
by eowynjedi
Summary: The Exile's departure for the Unknown Regions has left her companions at a loose end. They begin on the road to restore the Jedi Order, and find at the Telos Academy one strong on the Force, but more than they can handle. Postgame, plus some MicalxVisas.
1. Chapter 1

The lights of Citadel station glowed white, not red. The people moved with calm today, not with fear. It was full of Telosions today, not Sith troopers. Mical could feel it; he let it wash over him as he quietly meditated in spite the noise and the constant activity of the travelers' lounge. Some of them were refugees returning home, some from Nar Shaddaa and other places. There was a sense of hope, bright hope for the future in spite of the horrors of the wars. It was the hope Mical shared. 

They'd been on Citadel Station for three weeks now, ever since they had returned from Malachor. They'd rented apartments in one of the residential modules, and then one day the Exile and T3 and the Hawk were gone. She had said nothing to them, but they all knew where she gone. Revan was out there. The True Sith were out there. And now, she was out there. Mandalore left the next day, back to Dxun and his clans. The rest of them--they had been at a loss. Until Visas had said, "Kreia said we are the Lost Jedi."

"Without the Jedi, there is no hope for the Republic," Mical had said.

"Well, we can't be the only Jedi around." That had been Mira. And a day of discussion and another of planning, and they had split off on their separate missions. He, Bao-Dur, and Visas were to go to the secret academy here on Telos to--well, they weren't precisely sure what they would do there, yet; it depended on what they found. Atton, Mira, and HK-47 were searching for Revan's old companions (apparently some of Bao-Dur's maitenence on HK had found some memory files referring to Revan).

"There are many places in the Galaxy where the Dark Side is strong," said Visas next to him, breaking into his thoughts. Mical looked at her in surprise; not that she would speak of the Dark Side, but that she would speak at all. She went on. "I have seen such places. But I have never visited a place where the Light Side is strong, until now. There has been much suffering here, and yet the people here are filled with hope."

"There must always be hope," said Mical. "Nothing good can come without hope."

"I used to think such hope was a weakness. But I see now that is wrong. Hope has its own strength to it."

"It is a quieter strength," said Mical. "It is the strength of many with good in their hearts, not the strength of one with evil."

"I used to think you were naive--you, and the Exile, and the others." Mical raised his eyebrows in shock. Visas had only ever good things to say about the Exile. "But it is not naive. I can understand that, now."

"Yes," said Mical, not particularly sure what else to say. It felt very strange to be discussing this with Visas. She had hardly spoken three words on the trip to Citadel, not even to put in her thoughts about their task. Of course, she had never been particularly talkative on the search for the Lost Jedi, either. If she did speak, it was usually to the Exile. He could never remember having a conversation with her.

His comlink trilled, breaking into the awkward silence that was building. "Mical here."

"Got 'em," said Atton's voice. "We got them," said an irritated female voice in the background, and Atton sighed. "Okay, fine. We got them. Happy, Mira? Apparently that killer droid has multiple talents."

"Statement: The HK series is programmed with a plethora of useful functions. Opinion: However, I would designate my ability to kill as the most useful of my many talents."

"Look, could you not talk about killing for five minutes?" said Mira, exasperated. "It's getting old."

"Statement:--"

"Hey, can you two wait a second?" Atton cut in. "Okay, prince, listen up." Mical gritted his teeth at the nickname. "The landing bay codes are 45-alpha-67-D4-epsilon."

Mical quickly entered it into his datapad. "Understood. Thank you."

"You won't be thanking me when you get there. Be careful of those ghost women. They can't tell if they've got a Sith right under their noses, but they'll be happy to put all of you in force cages anyway." Ghost women--the Handmaidens, Mical thought. That could be very difficult.

"All right." The comlink switched off. "Come on," he said to Visas.

His only reply was a silent nod. Mical suppressed a sigh. Even after all this time, he could not help but feel... unsettled around Visas. It was wrong, and he knew it was wrong, but in spite of that he could not ignore his disquiet. She had certainly been redeemed; the Dark Side no longer had any hold over her, and she had proven that time and time again during their travels with the Exile, but... How much of her past with Nihilus still lingered? he wondered. He shook his head. That was a silly, paranoid thought, of course. But ever since Kreia--Darth Traya--he had been feeling very suspicious. What if there was another like her, still out there? What if there was another Revan?

It was all down to the teachings of the Jedi. Revan, Ulic Qel-Droma, Kreia--they were to be blamed for the horrors they had wrought, of course, but the arrogance and the hypocrisy of the Masters had their own hand in their falls. The very reason Mical was here was to try and correct that, to rebuild the Jedi Order so that Jedi could answer their questions by the teachings, and not by turning away from the light. He only hoped they could succeed where the Masters had failed.

* * *

Visas Marr and Mical strode to the TSF Station in Entertainment Module 081. Bao-Dur was still there, conversing in his mellow voice with a TSF mechanic over a battered droid and a wide puddle of fluid. "We have what we need," said Mical.

The Iridorian looked up from his work. "That was quick," he said. "All right then, let's go. Don't put in so much coolant next time," he added to the mechanic.

"Do we have a ship?" he asked as the three of them boarded the shuttle to the docking module. Apparently he thought there was no chance of them being noticed or significantly overheard in the crowded little vehicle.

"We will find one," said Visas calmly as she found a strap to hang onto.

"Does that mean we're going to steal one?" said Bao-Dur, a note of amusement to his voice.

"Yes," said Visas. She could feel Mical's displeasure at the prospect as he shifted restlessly from foot to foot. She took a breath. Out of all of them, he was the one most fixed on these tiny principles of honor and honesty. Bao-Dur treated it lightly; Mira and Atton would not have taken a pause, but it seemed Mical was still Mical, as he had ever been. "One pilot's inconvenience is nothing to our mission," she added, glaring at him beneath her veil. The glow of his life and the scars on her sight kept her from seeing his face properly, but she could guess. But if he did still have doubts, he was holding his tongue. Very unusual, for him. In fact, he'd been very quiet since they had escaped Malachor V. Visas could not explain it. But the peace was nice.

"It shouldn't be too difficult to find a suitable craft," said Bao-Dur practically, setting himself to the task at hand. "Even a courier shuttle would do, since we're not going to leave orbit."

"Where would we find such a shuttle?" said Visas.

"They make regular runs to and from different areas of the Citadel. They're built for cheapness and efficiency, so it's no big deal if we...borrow one from them."

"I suppose you are right," said Mical, not believing it, of course. The transit shuttle screeched to a halt just then, cutting off Visas from replying as she fought to hold on to her handstrap. Some of the other passengers were not so lucky; Bao-Dur paused to help a child to his feet as they stepped off.

"I can't say I'm too thrilled with it either, but there's not much choice," said Bao-Dur.

_No. We do not have the means to purchase another ship. We need to reach the academy with all haste_. Visas thought this, but she had already said as much and had no desire to repeat herself. There was nothing to be gained by arguing and regretting. She looked at Bao-Dur instead, waiting.

"We'll probably find one this way." He led them down the stark, wide corridors of Docking Module 043, much less crowded than the travelers' module.

"I am sure you are right," said Mical after a time, "but it still seems wrong to begin rebuilding the Jedi Order with an act of theft."

It was useless to continue arguing with him, so Visas did not. He was so perceptive to the currents of the Force, the flow of history, and yet he still had trouble seeing what was in front of his eyes. She could not understand it.

"Here we are," whispered Bao-Dur. The three Jedi halted at the open airlock doorway. Four tiny shuttles sat in the hangar bay, no activity of any sort around them. With a wave of his glowing arm, Bao-Dur led them in silence up the ramp to docking control. Visas pulled out her keybreaker pad and opened the door.

"What are you doing in here?" said the irritated female inside. "Civilians aren't supposed to be up here. Where is your permit?"

"We don't need a permit," said Mical, bringing the Force to bear with a wave of his hand. "We need to use one of the shuttles."

"That's right, you don't need a permit. Here are the codes to the shuttles; they'll work with any in this bay."

"Thank you." They hurried to board one before the mind trick wore off. Bao-Dur slid into the pilot seat, leaving the tiny space in the back to Mical and Visas. A blue light blinked on the console; the bay forcefield was down. The courier shuttle practically shot out into space, nearly knocking against the side of the hangar bay. Not a moment too soon; the light went red just as they cleared it.

Visas looked around the strange cityscape of Citadel Station. The hope she could feel in the travelers' lounge was still strong, even here in space. She could hear it, like a clear note from a bell, shining optimism that the wars would not return. She wished she could share in that hope as completely as they did. But the Exile was out there fighting that evil. Visas knew little of Revan; she had only heard of him as a conqueror and only for a short time as a hero--she could not place her trust in Revan, but she could do nothing but trust in Malara Etiston. Whoever, whatever the True Sith were, Malara would stop them.

Mical cleared his throat, jerking Visas from her thoughts. She looked at him questioningly, though it was not visible on her face. He gestured towards the empty crate on the floor, moving away from it the best he could in the cramped space. "What?" said Visas, not understanding.

"Take a seat." He apparently was perplexed by her perplexion.

"But you were closer."

"Sit down, Visas. He's being a gentleman," said Bao-Dur as he sent the courier shuttle soaring over the rooftops of Citadel.

"Oh." Visas hesitated, then sat down. "Thank you," she added, belatedly--politeness was as unnatural to her as idle conversation, but it seemed neccesary.

"My pleasure," said Mical. He sounded completely sincere; he felt completely sincere, which seemed very odd to Visas. Bao-Dur had said yesterday it would take probably two hours to reach the Academy from Citadel. In this low-grade little craft, it might take longer. Mical was very puzzling at times.


	2. Chapter 2

The Teolosians were obviously not spending their Republic relief funds on courier shuttles, Bao-Dur thought. The craft shook and jerked as he flew it over Telos' caustic atmosphere; it could kindly be called a box with wings. Still, he'd flown worse. He glanced down at the surface of Telos, passing by far below. If they had been flying in-atmosphere, it would be shooting past in a blur, but up here it simply rolled by lazily. He checked their position on what passed for a navigation system--half an hour left, about. "How're we doing back there?" 

"Fine." "Well." And then silence again. Bao-Dur rolled his eyes. Ever since the crew had split on Citadel Station, there had hardly been three sentences spoken between the three of them. Not that you could ever expect much from Visas, of course, but Mical had been uncharacteristically quiet. Been that way since Malachor, come to think of it.

He pushed Malachor from his mind. Being there the first time had been bad enough, returning... enough of that. He missed his remote. Couldn't say so, of course, but he missed that little ball of trouble, the same way he would have missed a dog. It would have been nice to have it here now--heck, even T3 wouldn't have been unwelcome. Droids could be so much more sensible than sentients sometimes. Most of the time. And Bao-Dur had had many years of dealing with both to form that opinion.

The polar region loomed up in the window, a stark end past the scorched pink. Bao-Dur began the descent, and the planet's surface began to move faster and faster beneath them--pink and green blurred together as they dropped lower into the atmosphere, then a giant blank sheet of white. "Transmitting the codes," he said as he tapped the appropriate buttons on the panel... and he might as well have been talking to himself, he thought. The plateau loomed up ahead, and he slowed the shuttle. "Looks like they've been accepted," he added as the violet forcefield dropped from the docking bay. "Taking her in to land."

"Do you believe anyone is left here?" said Mical, finally giving some sign that he still existed. "The Exile did not say what happened after she had defeated Atris."

"I do not believe this place has been abandoned," said Visas. "I sense... a darkness here, but it is not from a living being."

"I would guess that it comes from the holocrons," said Mical. "Atris horded dozens of Sith artifacts here. It is no wonder they corrupted her," he went on, warming to his subject. "To seclude oneself, to build up a shrine to a false ideal and allow the passion of it to rule you--that is a sure path to the Dark Side. Such arrogance is what led the Jedi Order to its fall. The Masters were not truly Masters."

Seemed like Mical was still his usual self, Bao-Dur thought. Albeit a bit more cynical than usual. "I never met Atris, but the General seemed pretty unhappy about meeting her again," the Iridonian said, making his contribution to the discussion. This could lead to a decent conversation, he realized as he set the shuttle down and pressed a button. The door clunked, stuck, and slammed open. Bao-Dur only shook his head as he watched the performance. He would need to take a look at this thing later.

They debarked, and Bao-Dur's hopes were realized. "I am not surprised," was what Mical said as they started towards the bay door. "The knights themselves, the Watchmen and the Weaponmasters were able to keep themselves to the Jedi Code, but for whatever reason, the Masters and the Council had a difficult time practising what they taught."

"Hypocrisy is always found at the highest levels," said Visas. She looked at Mical--Bao-Dur guessed she was looking at him, at least. "Perhaps you are not as naive as I thought you were."

"About the Jedi Order? No. I have seen their hypocrisy firsthand, both before and after traveling with the Exile."

Bao-Dur stopped suddenly. "What was that?"

Visas stepped forward, looking through the walls. "Someone is coming this way," she said.


	3. Chapter 3

Visas could see through the wall to the slender figure racing down the ramp. Slender, female--it was difficult for her to say, but the figure seemed to be dressed in white. At this distance, though, it could well have only been the female's normal life shining through. But it was strong, unusually so. Something deeper ran there. 

"Do you have any idea who it is?" asked Mical.

"It's probably one of the Handmaidens," said Bao-Dur.

The figure stopped. The door to the hangar bay opened.

"You are not the Mistress," she said, dismayed. "How did you come into possession of our landing codes? What have you done with my s--what have you done with the other Handmaidens?" Her hand went to a small shaft hanging from her belt. "Answer me."

"We are Jedi," said Visas.

"The Mistress is the last of the Jedi. There are no others." Red-tinged anger flickered in the Handmaiden. "Why have you invaded her Academy? Are you agents of the Sith?"

"Please," said Mical. "We only wish to inspect the holocrons that Atris kept--"

"The Mistress did not keep Jedi holocrons," said the Handmaiden, suspiciously. "Why would you have any interest in them?"

Then what would be Atris' interest in them, if she was a Jedi? Visas wondered, raising her eyebrows beneath her veil. But it would clearly be a bad idea to suggest to the Handmaiden that her beloved Mistress had been corrupted... they stood in silence for a moment, and Visas realized that Mical and Bao-Dur were waiting for _her _to say something. But she could not think of anything, or at least anything that would help the situation. "I assure you," she said, thinking wildly and coming up with nothing better, "we are Jedi."

"You are dressed as Jedi," the Handmaiden admitted. "And you carry the weapons of Jedi. And if you were Sith, you might have already attacked me. But the Sith can be subtle," she went on, pacing a few steps. "The old one, the one who came to Atris before the Exile's return was Sith. She corrupted the Mistress."

_Kreia_, Visas thought with a cold chill. She shook it off as the Handmaiden continued. "But if you are not Sith, you would not have any interest in Sith holocrons..." She stopped; her life-color flickered. That faint red tinge was still there.

The Force called a warning; Visas activated her lightsabre and in an instant clashed with the Handmaiden's staff. The Handmaiden twisted and disengaged, quick as lightning and just as powerful. The other end of the staff slammed into Visas' gut before she could see it. The sharp electric burst and the strike knocked every thought from her mind as she doubled over. Two snap-hisses behind her; Visas reached out and pushed with the Force just before Bao-Dur landed in front of her. The Handmaiden slammed back into the door and slid down, stunned. A hand gripped Visas' arm and pulled her to her feet, Mical.

She stepped around Bao-Dur and held the tip of her lightsabre in front of the Handmaiden's face. The Handmaiden stirred, and went cross-eyed as she stared at the bright yellow sabre. "If we had been Sith, you would be dead now," said Visas coldly.

The Handmaiden twisted the staff handle, collapsing it. "You may shut off your lightsabre," she said, subdued. Visas, feeling no duplicity in the Handmaiden, did so. The Handmaiden rose gracefully to her feet. "I am confused," she said. "You fight with a form that is neither Sith nor Jedi. You are aggressive, yet you show mercy."

"I am a Jedi," said Visas.

The Handmaiden bowed. "Please, forgive my assault. I needed to ascertain whether you held the taint of the Dark Side. I will guide you."

The three Jedi exchanged glances--or as much as they could, with Visas' eyeless sockets concealed beneath her veil. They followed the Handmaiden up the ramp from the docking bay.

"Why was it neccesary to attack us?" asked Mical.

"Battle is the purest form of expression," replied the Handmaiden, leading them through rooms filled with computer equipment. "Even when a person lies, you can see their true selves in how they fight. There is no holding back in battle. Everything is laid bare."

"I see."

"There were more Handmaidens, when I was here," said Bao-Dur.

"They have gone in search of the Mistress." There was a twinge of something--anger, shame--in her. Visas noted it cautiously. She could still see the red. And there was something else there as well; something deeper. It was faint, almost not there, as though it had been suppressed over long years. But there was that faint whisper, nonetheless--the Force ran through this Echani.

They had arrived in what seemed to be a central chamber, a circle with several doors leading off from it and a thick pillar in the middle. "We are fatigued from our journey," Visas said, thinking quickly. "Is there someplace we may rest?"

"You may use my sisters' rooms," said the Handmaiden. She opened a door to a large antechamber with six doors set in the walls. "The first room on the right is mine; all the others are empty. If you require anything of me, please let me know. I will be attending to the environmental systems in the second computer bay."

"Thank you."

The Handmaiden bowed and left. Visas picked one of the rooms at random and nodded for the others to follow her in. They needed to talk about this.


	4. Chapter 4

Brianna slapped out in a fall, snarling at herself as she got to her feet. This was the third time she had missed her footing! The Acklay Pattern was one of the more difficult Echani dances, but this--she was making the mistakes of a child. Rotate, she told herself as she swung into the kick again. Rotate, kick, land, rotate, kick, punch--She landed heavily as her mind blanked. What came next? For the life of her, she could not remember. 

Last of the Handmaidens. Last of the Handmaidens. That one word, _last_, like a vile thing, a blister that refused to heal. She snarled as she reset herself, refusing to pause or look up the next move. She had been dancing the Acklay for years. She would remember it. She would prove that she was worthy of her title, that she was not the Last, that she was not some shame to be left behind. She would prove it to them all.

* * *

There was silence in Mical digested Visas' flat statement. "But how is that possible?" he asked. "The Handmaidens took an oath never to be trained as Jedi. They have deadened themselves to the Force."

"Then we must reawaken it," said Visas. And saying those words brought home the enormity of it. _We must reawaken it_. They would have to train her. Guide her. Keep her towards the Light, and Visas could already hear the discord of bitterness within her. The Exile, Visas was sure, would know exactly what to do, to know just how to approach the situation and set the Handmaiden on the right path. But the Exile was gone. It was up to them, entirely.

Visas knew nothing of teaching. She tried to envision how to approach the Handmaiden. She could not.

"This is exactly what the Exile intended us to do," said Mical.

Bao-Dur looked up. "What do you mean?"

Visas could not see that Mical's eyes had lit up, but she could hear his voice brighten. "She trained us--the Lost Jedi--to rebuild the Order. That is why we are here now. She taught us. Now we must teach others, so that the Jedi do not simply become another page in history."

"We came here to get holocrons," said Bao-Dur. "Besides, aren't Atton and Mira looking for the other Jedi?"

"They are looking for the old Jedi, the Jedi from Revan's journey and the survivors of the Purge. But this--this is a chance to rebuild the Order. The Republic needs the Jedi," he said, earnestly. "We must train her."

"If we do not train her as a Jedi, she will fall to the Dark Side," said Visas. She felt sure of that. "The seed is in her. She is angry. Resentful. We must cleanse that from her."

"But what could be the cause of it?" And Mical was once again groping in the dark. Visas opened her mouth to answer... but she did not have one. She did not know anything of the Handmaiden, her life or her self--she shook her head, wordless.

"I'll go talk to her," said Bao-Dur.

"Why you?" asked Visas--despite her enormous relief that the burden of revealing this news had been taken off her shoulders.

Bao-Dur shrugged. "I've been here before," he said. "I know a little bit about them, at least."

"That's probably a good idea," said Mical. "I do not think I would be very good at breaking the news to her." Visas felt the same about herself, but she did not say it.

Bao-Dur nodded and left the room.

"Well," said Mical, "now what?"

"Why are you asking me?" said Visas. Mical shrugged. There was a long silence. Visas thought of Malachor V, of Malara calmly rising on the lift to find Darth Traya. She thought of the Ravager, when Malara had broken the last link of the chain that bout Visas to her lord, so that he was no longer her lord... just a man. And she remembered waiting at the Hawk, trying to meditate while Malara met with the Council... of the broken, haunted way Malara had moved when she'd returned, the pain and the death running fresh through the scars on her spirit. Visas remembered that moment, the moment when Malara had splintered, had come close to breaking once more--how she'd refused to speak or even eat, just meditating for a night, and a day, while the rest of the crew hovered in anxiety. Visas had heard her soul crack. She had _heard _it.

"I wish she was here now," said Mical, quietly. "She would know what to do." There was no need to say who 'she' was.

"What did you say to her?" asked Visas. Mical looked up questioningly. "When she returned from the Council. What was it you said that kept her from breaking?"

"I--why do you wish to know?"

"Because you helped her," said Visas. "How?"

"I had never thought of it as helping her," said Mical. He stirred, uncomfortably. "I told her the Council was wrong."

"They tried to break her," she said--more to herself than to Mical. "Again." She looked up at him. "If she had not been a Jedi herself, I would not continue with this 'restoration.'"

"It is ironic," said Mical, soberly, "that the only Jedi Knight worthy of the title was the one they exiled"

* * *

Bao-Dur had spent his life around droids, and the truth in that statement was demonstrated again by his near-perfect memory of the Academy, despite the fact that it had been nearly a year since he had last "visited." The computer rooms were unoccupied (and a quick systems diagnostic had shown everything to be functioning within normal parameters), the storage rooms were empty, and so was the prison. With his good hand in his pocket, he walked around the central chamber. Anyone watching would think he was simply taking a casual stroll, but his eyes flicked this way and that, searching. He reached out through the Force--not through the currents of life, few enough that there were here--but through the hum of the computers, the steady, silvery glow of the lights, the rhythmic thrumming of the air systems. He saw through those, or he tried to. And then he gave up on that when it didn't work and opened the next door.

A long ramp reached up to a circular chamber of mostly transparisteel. Bao-Dur raised his eyebrows. He hadn't remembered seeing that on his last visit. The General had been rather eager to leave the Academy and Atris behind. A pity really; he would have liked to see more of it. It looked like he could, now.

The ramp was fairly long and, unsurprisingly, there were no railings to guard against a misstep. Bao-Dur glanced over the side. It looked like a long way down. He reached the door to the chamber quickly. There were chairs around the windows, and more importantly, glimpses of white movement. That would be the Handmaiden. He touched the doorpanel; locked. A quick manual over-ride and it hissed open.

The Handmaiden whirled on one foot and landed heavily on the other, hands up and held wide apart in the basic Echani stance. She stood there on the balls of her feet, hood down, glaring at the Iridorian with fierce blue eyes for a split second before she relaxed and pulled herself up straight. "Master Jedi," she said respectfully. "What do you require?"

"Just call me Bao-Dur. I'm not a master," he said. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Why? What is the matter?"

Bao-Dur thought about this. He thought about building up to it, breaking the news gradually and carefully. He thought of hinting at it and watching her reaction. He thought of starting a normal conversation and slipping it in, but in the end he decided that the best thing to do would just be to say it, plainly and quickly. "You probably don't realize it yet," he said mildly, "but you're Force Sensitive."

The Handmaiden said nothing, as Bao-Dur had expected. She stared, icy blue eyes utterly bewildered. "I know you've blocked yourself out from the Force," he went on. "Try to look past that. Look inside yourself. It is there."

"I--" She shook her head violently. "No. What you say is impossible. There is nothing of the Force in me."

"The Force is everywhere. It's in me, and it's in you. Trust me, I found it a little hard to believe when the Exile told me I could feel it," said Bao-Dur--a minor lie. It had been surprising, but not difficult. He had trusted the Exile implicitly; he had known the moment he heard them how true her words were, thirty-two-year-old mechanic though he was. "It's not hard."

The Handmaiden looked down. "I asked the Exile what the Force felt like, once. She said it was like a river, carrying you everywhere it touched. I have never felt like that."

"That's because you turned away from it," said Bao-Dur. "Turn around." She did--"No, not literally. I mean turn back to the river." She looked confused, worried--even hurt.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"All right," said Bao-Dur, wracking his mind to find a way to describe it. Flowing like a river... he'd never seen it like that. The Force was a thousand lights, the humming of life like an engine beneath his hands. To touch it was to open the engine and step inside, hearing the hum all around him and--but she would not understand that. She was not a mechanic born, she was a warrior. And she was alone, abandoned. "You see this place around us?" he said. "It used to be an irrigation system. This place used to provide water for hundreds of farms in the polar region. It sustained life. Can you imagine how it must have sounded?" he said, and he himself became caught up in the image. "Thousands and thousands of litres flowing through here, going to a hundred different places. But it was all the same water, the same source. It was connected. That's what the Force is. It connects us to other life. Do you get it?"

"I... don't know," said the Handmaiden, hesitant and unsure. She shook her head. "I still don't know how to believe what you're saying. And even if it's true, it means nothing." Her eyes cleared--they met Bao-Dur's, ice-cold and ice-set. "I swore an oath never to walk the path of the Jedi. I am a Handmaiden of Atris. I guard the Jedi against themselves. Please... leave me to my training."

Bao-Dur nodded. He tried to push away the dejection. Obviously it would take more than one conversation to be able to train her, he told himself realistically. You couldn't rush a big repair job, or you would ruin it. And this was more, much more than a matter of motivators and circuits. "All right, but think about what I've said." He nodded to her and left.


End file.
